


Tropical Depression

by Tipsy_Kitty



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsy_Kitty/pseuds/Tipsy_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicia drags Jensen to a tropical writer's retreat so they can work on their screenplay. Jensen would rather work on seducing the fitness instructor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tropical Depression

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fall 2013 round of [](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/)**salt_burn_porn** for the prompt _he's not my boyfriend_. Thanks to herminekurotowa for the super-fast beta!

The moon is a ghost but the stars shine brightly through the wall of 15-foot windows in the _Ranchos Las Parejas_ fitness studio.

Jensen doesn’t care about the moon or the stars, though. He’s lying on his back atop a pile of yoga mats, arms and legs wrapped around his cardio instructor’s lean, hard body, urging Jared to fuck him _harder faster deeper._

“C’mon, fuck, c’mon,” Jensen manages through ragged breaths. “Not gonna break.”

Jared wraps his arms around Jensen’s thighs and flips him over to his stomach, fucking into Jensen like a goddamn pile driver. Jensen turns away from the windows and sees the two of them reflected in the series of mirrors that make up the remaining three walls. Jared fucking Jensen fucking Jared to infinity.

It’s hot as fucking hell.

Jensen comes with a strangled yelp all over the lavender-scented mats, gratified to hear Jared’s “Fuck, fucking _fuck_!” shortly after as he shoots his own load into the condom one of them had the sense to grab before this craziness started.

“Fuck,” Jared says again into the crease of Jensen’s neck as he sinks onto Jensen’s back like a stone slicing through water.

“Fuck,” Jensen agrees.

 

_One month earlier_

Jensen was across the street getting coffee when the news came that their pilot script had been picked up. He walked back into the office juggling two jumbo coffees and a bag of pastries, only to have Felicia leap up and grab him round the neck in a bear hug that resulted in both of them soaking in about 40 ounces of drippy black coffee.

“That was my only white shirt,” Jensen mourned as he detached himself and settled his glasses back on his nose.

“Dude, they want us!” Felicia said, eyes shining. “We’re in—HBO wants to start shooting next spring!”

“Hmm?” Jensen asked as he tried to wring out his shirt over the trashcan. Then her words registered and he froze. “We’re in?”

“We’re in! We sign on Friday!”

Shirt forgotten, Jensen grabbed her and twirled her around the cramped office they shared, both of them laughing until they were breathless.

They had celebrated that evening by embarking on a coffee-stained pub crawl, joined along the way by several friends and family members.

“We made it!” Felicia had whooped at one point, swigging from a bottle of champagne and then planting a huge smacking kiss on her fiancé’s cheek. Jensen, usually more reserved, could not keep the grin off his face. It felt true, it felt like they’d made it. All the hours they’d spent writing and re-writing, the gamble they’d taken leaving a profitable but soul-crushing Disney sitcom to try their hand at the sort of dark, gritty writing they both admired so much…it was all going to be worth it.

They spent the next 24 hours sleeping off their celebration and then settled down to the serious business of busting out 10 50-minute scripts for Takami’s _Battle Royale_ , with an additional 10 episodes if season 2 was picked up (and a potential five-year contract if certain financial goals were met).

Jensen had never been happier that Felicia had started chattering to him one day during the first week of their Narrative Film Production class when they were still green Film majors at UCLA.

 

 

Jensen had never been more irritated with Felicia. He was a grumpy traveler anyway, and his plane had been delayed for almost three hours on the hot tarmac at the San Diego airport while the air traffic controllers dealt with a backlog of flights. He hadn’t wanted to take this stupid trip anyway, had told her that they didn’t need some fancy, expensive writer’s retreat. They just needed to buckle down and write harder.

“‘Write harder?’” Felicia had scoffed, pretty much refuting all his arguments when she threw his words back in his face.

Jensen had rolled his eyes, but privately agreed they needed something to get back on track. After the contract had been signed, they’d spent their first day back at the office arguing about which scene should open the series. Wednesday's workday had concluded at noon with a vicious fight about dangling participles, and by Friday, a heated discussion about the merits of _Audition_ versus _Ichi the Killer_ almost ended their eight-year friendship.

“We need a break,” Felicia had said the following Monday, looking glumly at the blinking cursor on her blank OpenOffice document.

“We don’t have time for a break.”

But Felicia dug around online and came up with a great deal for a writer's retreat on Craig’s List, one week all-inclusive, on the beaches of Baja California, and Jensen had grudgingly agreed to go.

 

 

Jensen pushed open the doors to the main lodge and was met with a welcome blast of cool air. Felicia was waiting for him in a chaise near the front desk, wearing a blinding smile and a sarong that barely covered her tiny green bikini.

“Does Nathan know you’re wearing that?” Jensen teased. “He gave me strict orders not to let you talk to any strange men.”

She laughed. “He knows, I just sent him a picture of my—”

“Ack!” Jensen cried in mock horror. “Enough!”

“Aren’t you glad we decided to do this?” she beamed. “I already feel a thousand percent better about how you botched the bus scene in episode 1.”

“Flee,” he warned, but he was smiling.

“Kidding. Now c’mon, go put your stuff in the room and let’s check this place out!”

Two hours later Jensen had to agree that the resort was lovely, if a little on the crunchy side. Sedate new age music played softly from various speakers both inside the main lodge and across the grounds, and they passed not one but two different yoga sessions being held in shaded outdoor pavilions. But the infinity pool was stunning, surrounded by palm trees and tropical plants, and there was a spring-fed mineral bath hidden amongst the odd natural gatherings of boulders that cropped up here and there.

Felicia returned to the room early to change for dinner and call Nathan, and Jensen wandered around a little longer on his own. He could smell a delicious combination of aromas coming from the dining room, and he was just thinking about how much he would enjoy a glass of fine scotch and a steak dinner when he was suddenly buffeted about by a stream of sweaty men and women exiting the fitness center. He stood back to let them pass and then poked his head in the door to see what the gym looked like.

It was lovely and spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall, high ceilings, and a bamboo floor that felt oddly springy when Jensen walked across it. In the center of the room stood a very tall, muscular man with a very firm ass. The black workout pants he wore hugged his _gluteus maximus_ in a most appealing way, and when he bent over to stretch out his hamstrings, Jensen sucked in a breath.

_Christ_ , Jensen thought, one eyebrow raised in admiration. _What an ass_.

The instructor stood to remove his microphone headset and then shook out his damp hair.

When he spotted Jensen behind him in the wall of mirrors, he broke into a wide grin, and Jensen thought he might—maybe—be in love.

“Hi! You must have arrived this afternoon,” the man said, turning around as he stuck out a hand. “I’m Jared, and I’m in charge of the fitness activities offered here at the ranch.”

Jensen shook his hand as he glanced down Jared’s body before meeting his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I’d be up for any sort of activities you have to offer,” Jensen drawled, blushing almost as soon as the words had left his mouth.

Jared blinked in surprise and took back his hand like he’d been scalded.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Jared said with a frown. “Tell me you did not just hit on me.”

Jensen took a step back, surprised. Sure, it hadn’t been his smoothest opening line, but he didn’t think it was _that_ bad. He started to apologize but found himself distracted by the way Jared’s sweaty tank top clung to his pecs, how Jensen could _almost_ see the dusky nipples outlined beneath the thin white shirt…

“Out,” Jared growled. “Get out of my studio and see if you can manage to keep it in your pants for just one damned week.”

Jensen felt like he’d been slapped, but he drew himself up to his full height. “Fine,” he snapped as he turned on his heel and walked to the door. “Your loss.”

_Christ_ , he thought as he stalked angrily towards the cabana he was sharing with Felicia. _What an ass_.

 

 

When Jensen got back to their room, Felicia was pacing up and down the deck, twisting her hands with worry.

“Hey, Jensen,” she said, catching his eye. “I was talking to some of the other guests and…it turns out…”

“Oh God, what’d you do?” Jensen asked. “It’s another one of your patented Felicia screw-ups, isn’t it?”

“See, actually…” she started, and then frowned at him and folded her arms across her chest. “What the heck is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, it’s always something, isn’t it? Like the time you thought you were getting us invited to that industry thing, and instead it was a birthday party for the Sprouse brats.”

“Actually,” she said icily, “it was a party for the Gomez brat, and it technically _was_ an industry thing, and it _could_ have helped our careers if you weren’t such a—”

“Oh, right, there it is again, all the ways _I’ve_ held us back, all the times _I’ve_ fucked us over, never mind when you—”

“Save it, princess,” she said crossly, pushing past him towards the door. “See you at dinner.”

“Wait!” he called after her as shame washed over him. “Flee, I’m sorry! What were you gonna tell me?”

But he was talking to her back.

 

 

By the time Jensen entered the dining room, he was feeling very small and very guilty. Felicia was his best friend and his writing partner, and he couldn’t understand why everything had gone sideways when they started to actually achieve their goals.

After 15 fruitless minutes searching for the bar, he finally gave up and took his seat next to his friend. Another couple had been seated across from them, and they were holding hands and whispering as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Jensen fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Flee, I’m really sorry,” Jensen said as he unfolded his napkin and studied his plate.

“Umm...” Felicia sighed. “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be,” she said, patting his shoulder.

He gave her a look, but before he could ask what she meant someone was standing up in the front of the room and asking for everyone’s attention. A very tall, very handsome someone.

“He’s gay, right?” Jensen whispered in Felicia’s ear.

“I dunno, maybe. Why?”

“I tried to chat him up a little while ago and he got really pissy.”

“Oh, God,” Felicia said with a loud bark of laughter, as she buried her face in her hands.

“It’s not that funny,” he hissed. He was starting to get annoyed again but decided to take the high road. He turned his attention to the front of the room, where Jared was welcoming “y’all” to _Rancho Las Parejas_. Jensen furrowed his brow. His Spanish wasn’t great but he _had_ spent most of his life in either Texas or California.

“Did he just say _parejas_?” Jensen asked.

Up front, Jared turned the floor over to the owner and founder of the retreat, a trim, handsome man named Misha.

“Maybe he’s gay?” Jensen wondered. “Someone’s gotta want some action this week.”

Felicia, who had just managed to straighten up and stop giggling, collapsed into silent gales of laughter that shook her whole body.

“Thank you, Jared,” Misha was saying. “And welcome, everyone, to one of the best weeks of your lives!”

Scattered applause.

“I congratulate you all for joining us,” Misha continued. “I know it can be difficult for some to leave behind the toxins and distractions of the real world to focus on your personal growth—to focus on your body, your mind, and most importantly, your marriage.”

Jensen paled and turned to Felicia. “He’s joking, right?”

Felicia took in a shuddering breath and then collapsed into silent laughter again.

“...just as I know everybody will enjoy the delicious, nourishing vegetarian dishes Chef Qualls has prepared for us,” Misha was saying, “as well as our lovely selection of sparkling waters and vegetable juices.”

Jensen jabbed Felicia in the ribs. “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me.”

By this point Felicia was actually laughing so hard she was crying, wiping tears away from her eyes before finally giving up and rushing out to the ladies room to get herself under control.

Jensen felt a little like crying himself. No way. No fucking way. A touchy-feeling writer’s retreat was one thing, but a touchy-feely couples retreat? That was (1) vegetarian, (2) caffeine-free, (3) alcohol-free, and obviously, for him and Flee at least, (4) sex-free?

Yeah, that was pretty much Jensen’s worst nightmare.

When he looked up again Jared was glaring at him from the front corner of the room, and Jensen slunk low in his seat. It just figured that the hottest guy on the island thought he was a cheating, lying bastard who made his wife cry at dinner.

 

 

By the time desert was served (honey-lemon tofu-cheesecake, naturally) Jensen was sort of—maybe—kind of— seeing the humor in the situation.

“You’re paying me back for every penny of this disaster,” he told Felicia as they clinked their glasses of sparkling cucumber juice.

“We could just go home,” she offered. “But, it’s already paid for, and getting an early return flight will probably cost us hundreds. Plus I talked to Misha before dinner, and he knows that this was kind of a screw up.”

Jensen nudged her shoulder and she sighed in her long-suffering way. “Yes, dammit, a ‘classic Felicia screw-up.’ And, he also knows that even though we aren’t married, our partnership could use some, ah, retreating.”

“Yeah, I guess. But maybe we can sneak away tomorrow to rustle up a bottle of rum?”

“Obviously,” Felicia said. “And coffee.”

“Obviously.”

After desert Jensen was making small talk with their gooey-eyed dining companions, Jeffrey Morgan and Samantha Smith-Morgan, who were on their fourth annual visit to _Ranchos Las Parejas_ , when he caught sight of Felicia in the corner talking to Jared. She was gesturing to Jensen, and even from 20 feet away he could see Jared start to blush and run his hands through his hair. When they turned to look at him simultaneously, he closed his eyes in mortification and prayed for volcanic activity to put him out of his misery.

He had no idea how he was going to get through a week of cardio training with Jared every morning. When he’d asked Felicia over the asparagus-arugula salad if they might have other options for ‘focusing their bodies,’ she’d looked at him in all seriousness and asked, “How do you feel about tantric yoga?”

 

 

The next two days were kind of a haze of caffeine headaches, strange meals, and teasing Felicia about all the horrible ways he was going to make this fiasco up to her when they were back on American soil. Several times Jensen caught Jared watching him, thought maybe Jared was going to speak to him. Jensen thought that was probably a bad idea, since he couldn’t stop fantasizing about what those black workout pants might be hiding.

But Jared found him after dinner one evening, and asked if they could talk privately. They left the dining hall silently and ended up in the deserted fitness studio before Jared finally spoke.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jared finally said. “I was rude to you, and you deserved better, and I’m really, really sorry.”

Jensen shrugged and then smiled. It really was kind of funny. “It’s okay, man, I get it. I would have deserved it if I actually was hitting on you with my wife two rooms away.”

Jared snorted. “You would hardly be the first. Almost every week one of the guests acts like I’m on the menu.”

“Seriously?” Jensen grimaced.

“And then there was this couple in their seventies who thought I would be perfect for sorting out their ‘bedroom difficulties.’

Jensen coughed. “I’m not supposed to laugh, am I?”

Jared grinned. “Naw, it’s okay. I work in a tropical paradise; I’d be totally spoiled if there weren’t some disadvantages to the job.”

He held out his hand and said “Bygones?”

“Bygones,” Jensen agreed with a shake.

The touch of Jared’s hand on his was electric, and it opened a floodgate.

“Oh, God,” Jared said, stepping closer so their lips were almost touching. “I really want to kiss you, can I?”

Jensen grabbed Jared and pulled him in, their lips crashing together, hot and wet and tongues and teeth and _fuck!_ Jensen hissed when they came up for air.

Jared had the presence of mind to turn off the bank of overhead lights so they weren’t giving the whole resort a show, and then by starlight they were stripping each other, everywhere their bare skin touched like an electrical charge, as though their bodies were crying for one another at a molecular level.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous,” Jared was mumbling as he sucked and licked at Jensen’s neck. “Wanted you so bad.”

Jensen was fumbling with Jared’s shorts while Jared unbuttoned Jensen’s shirt, and when they were finally naked Jared pressed him back against the cool surface of the mirror while his hands gripped Jensen’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart just slightly and ghosting an inquisitive finger across his furled hole, and Jensen thought he was going to crawl out of his skin.

Then he opened his eyes and realized he could watch everything Jared was doing in the wall of mirrors, every flex and squeeze of his muscular body, from almost every angle.

“Holy fuck,” Jensen breathed, transfixed by the sight of Jared’s ass, clenching and rocking against Jensen’s body, even as he felt Jared line their cocks up together in one large hand and begin stroking. And then Jared was kissing him again but Jensen still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight of Jared rutting against him, a thousand Jareds rutting against a thousand Jensens.

“Too much,” he said, tugging at Jared’s hair, feeling Jared smile against his ear.

Jared pulled away slightly and kissed Jensen with so much tenderness that he felt breathless. Then Jared was sliding gracefully to his knees and Jensen’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of Jared, looking up at him with a gleam in his fox eyes as he mouthed at Jensen’s cock. Across the studio, other mirror-Jareds were on their knees, long, muscular backs silver in the moonlight, and Jensen had to close his eyes for a moment to stop himself from shooting before he even got that hot, silky mouth around his cock.

He spread his hands against the mirror, trying to ground himself, and then Jared was tonguing his balls, sliding his mouth up to suck at the tip, pausing to swipe at the sensitive cluster of nerves just below the head of his dick, and Jensen let the sensations sweep over him. Jared’s strong hands went back to prying Jensen’s cheeks apart while he sucked and licked at Jensen’s cock, his wide mouth messy with spit and pre-come, glowing by the light of the moon.

“Fuck,” Jensen hissed, “you have a goddamn gorgeous mouth, you know that?”

Jared hummed a little and Jensen dropped his head back against the mirror, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the smooth, polished surface as he tried to hold off his orgasm.

Then Jared was taking him all in, every inch, until the point of his nose was brushing Jensen’s belly and his throat was squeezing the head of Jensen’s cock. Jensen’s eyes flew open and a guttural groan escaped his throat; it felt fucking amazing, and it looked hotter than sin as he watched Jared’s head bob up and down on his cock. He barely had time to nudge Jared’s ear before he was shooting onto Jared’s upturned face, painting him with pretty pearls of come.

“Holy fuck,” Jensen whispered, sliding to the floor on legs that wouldn’t support him. “Holy fucking shit.”

Jared wiped his face on his discarded tee shirt and smiled, threading his hand through Jensen’s. Jensen made a half-hearted attempt to reciprocate but Jared just laughed.

“We’ve got time, Jensen, just relax,” he said, and Jensen closed his eyes and tilted his head to look out at the night sky.

“Never having sex without mirrors again,” Jensen mumbled, and Jared laughed. He nudged Jensen until they were lying side by side on a pile of yoga mats, looking up at the ceiling.

“You know, Misha’s a huge fan of whatever you’re working on,” Jared said, absently stroking his still hard cock. “I heard him offering to let you guys stay until 'that damned project sees the light of day.'”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Would I still have to do cardio?”

Jared laughed. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” He reached for Jensen’s pliant body and turned him gently over so his knees were under his chest and his ass was in the air, and began gently kneading his buttocks. Jensen opened his eyes and met Jared’s gaze in the mirror, and his dick began stirring in anticipation of round two.


End file.
